We don't make bicycles anymore. It's all human relations now. The eggheads sit around trying to figure out new ways for everyone to be happy. Nobody can get fired, no matter what; and if somebody does accidentally make a bicycle, the union accuses us of cruel and inhuman practices and the government confiscates the bicycle for back taxes and gives it to a blind man in Afghanistan.

When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth.

What a bummer it is to be a human being.

The big show is inside my head.

Hardly anyone in the world is an American

Hate, in the long run, is about as nourishing as cyanide.

... uncritical love is the only real treasure.